Steam(punk)ing Right Along

I literally just finished my first edit pass through my steampunk novel. I finished the manuscript about two months or so ago and I've been letting it sit, getting some distance from it be before doing my own beta-read. As far as the last 25K words or so go, it was the first time I'd read them at all. I can't tell you how excited I am to find that I really like this book! I honestly didn't know if the story would hold up, if it made sense, if it was loaded with contradictions and inconsistencies that would have to be corrected, etc., etc. I can confidently say it does, it does, and it wasn't. Yay! I haven't felt this good about a project in a long time. I still have to go through all my tracked changes before sending it to my beta readers, of course, but wheeeeeee! That clearly hasn't dampened my enthusiasm. ;-)

I hope everyone who has chosen to participate in NaNoWriMo this year is steaming merrily along on their own works! I might have to start a new novel this month myself just because I can. Hee-hee!

Long and Short

Long:
After nine months of on-again, off-again writing, I finished my steampunk m/m novel a week ago today! A couple of author buddies came over for a write-in and I knew I was in the homestretch, and... It's done! Now it sits and gels for a little while before I read it start to finish and tweak/edit it a bit before sending it to my beta readers. Whee! Oh, and it topped 100K words. WTF? That makes it the longest book I've ever written, beating my menage, Rose & Thorn, by about 10K.

Short:
I wrote a smutty f/m short story yesterday. Just under 5K words once I'd trimmed, tidied, and tightened it. I think that calls for another WTF?, don't you? I sent it to my critique partner (who actually writes het erotic romance) for a beta. I'm almost scared to see what she has to say since neither het nor short story is my usual format. Cross your fingers for me.

Finding Balance

A few weeks back, someone said, "Write down a goal and then write down how you will feel when you achieve that goal." That seemed like a good idea so I did it, only I goofed. What I'd written down was really two goals in one...and I didn't achieve it. Them. Whatever. That's not to say I'm not a great deal closer to the half of the goal that is still achievable. I am. Something like 20,000 words closer, in fact. I'm not usually a big goal-setter, you see. Sure, the arbitrary, meaningless, self-imposed deadline has had its uses in my life (NaNoWriMo, anyone?), but this time I let life take precedence over such a deadline. And you know what? I'm okay with that. My mom and my bro needed help with some stuff, and I didn't get any writing done those days. That's fine. A dear friend was in town from San Diego and I didn't get a word written while she was here. That's fine, too. Because living in the moment, enjoying time with people I love, is more important than a daily word count or even an arbitrary, meaningless, self-imposed deadline. No editor or publisher is breathing down my neck for this novel. (Which is good and bad and a whole other post in itself.) I have beta readers tapping their toes impatiently, but they'll forgive the wait. The manuscript in question is winding down. It has surpassed my previous word count record by about 6,000 words (so far). It will be done when it is done with however many words it takes, and when it's done it'll go to the beta readers, and then I hope it will eventually find a home with a publisher and make it out to you.

On another subject completely (and yet not entirely unrelated), it's Bisexuality Day today. Here's an old favourite to help you celebrate. :-)

Reconnecting

I got to hang out with an old friend of mine today. I don't get to see him nearly often enough. We got to chat about travel adventures, writing adventures, and life adventures. It reminded me that I need to get out of my shell/house/computer more often and see my friends in the real world. Sure, I knew some of what he and his hubby have been up to via his Facebook feed, but that is no substitute for tea at the dining table, a walk in the rain, lunch at the pub, and a genuine face-to-face chat and laughter. So remember from time to time to log off the 'net and log into RL. The intarwebz will be there waiting whenever you get back.

Some thoughts on piracy

The subject of ebook piracy pops up every now and then, and yet still the efforts to combat it are at best clumsy and ineffective, and at worst indiscriminately punitive. Last week, Chuck Wendig declared 6 February "Please Don't Pirate My Book Day." You can read his insightful post about it at that link. You can read my rather less insightful, but hopefully interesting post about it at this link.

Rediscovering a groove

I just got home from a short vacation where I had almost no internet access. I cannot tell you how good that felt! I got very little writing done while on vacation, but the trip did help me get back in touch with my writer self, and that's just as good for me at this point. I'm rediscovering what routines work for me as a writer; things that have fallen to the wayside over the past couple of years. I am digging out of my rut and stepping back into my groove, and what a good feeling that is! That said, it's a delicate balance between "researching" and "procrastinating". At least I got in about four hours of writing before I got sidetracked to all those pretty websites with all that interesting information. Today, I call that a win.

The Brain of Morbius

Congrats to anyone who recognized that as the title of a Doctor Who episode from the Tom Baker era. You win many, many geek points and a fangirl high-five from me. Doctor Who doesn't have anything to do with my post, but when I was thinking about a title to go with my evil brain theme, that's what my geek brain came up with.

Yes, my brain is evil. Sadistically cruel. It wants me to suffer. You see, I've been writing this fun series set in Baltimore. The third book comes out in April and I love it to pieces. (For those of you wondering it's about Quinn's friend Jamie. If anyone was worried, Peter isn't in it.) But to return to my evil brain issues, while I was writing Bad Attitude, my story brain birthed an awesome plot bunny for the fourth book...or so I thought. (Cue melodramatic incidental music.)

Basically, number four, which has the working title of Bad Habit (no, no nuns, and no Peter. He doesn't deserve an HEA.), is about Silver, Eli's tall blond friend. Apparently, my brain decided that I'd been having way too much fun with the previous three books and decided to give me a conflict that would be a almost impossible to resolve. I came up with an idea for a reunion romance and let me tell you, there's a serious reason it didn't work the first time. Wrongs on both sides. It sounded awesome. Just the kind of thing to use as a carrot to urge me to finish Bad Attitude. Delighted, I dove in to book number four.

And found out someone drained all the water from the pool.

Ow ow ow.

Sadistic brain. It's up there laughing at me while I am bleeding on the bottom of the drained pool.

Damn. Great idea in theory but this sucker is hard to write. Like Regularly Scheduled Life hard. But just like with that book, when I try to put it aside to focus on something else that might come out a little faster than a sentence every hour, my brain goes right back to that idea. It won't let it go. And that's why I say it's evil. I mean, don't I give it a happy playground full of imaginary friends? How could it do this to me? Why does it want me to suffer?

Maybe I should take a cue from another Fourth Doctor episode, be reduced to virus size and injected into my brain so that I can tame the evil lurking in my head that wants to make me tell this story. Or at least force it to tell it faster.

And for the Whovians who stayed with me, yes, that one is The Invisible Enemy. And if you know which companion was introduced in that episode, you win all the geek points and why aren't we friends already?

Off the Clock

As I mentioned in June, I quit ye olde teaching job in favor of not being beat up and getting to write stories of cute guys fucking all day. Props to me. But as Labor Day stares me in the face, I'm getting an odd feeling of being out of time and place. Labor Day has meant the start of a new year to me for a tidy few decades, much more so than January 1. Fall has always been new beginnings, new chances, new clothes and new school supplies. At The Most Awesome Job Ever, all Labor Day means this year is that a book came out, a book is in edits, I have print galleys due and another book due while a trying to keep new characters from trying to escape and take over. All of that is fun (except the print galleys), but they don't have that special connection to this time of year. Still not complaining because, see above, getting to write about guys meeting, fucking and falling in love is absolutely The Most Awesome Job Ever, but it's hard fighting the urge to buy new clothes or a pencil case.

We humans have been coming up with ways to tell time (Stonehenge, New Grange) almost as soon as we could count, so it seems like a pretty basic need to find a rhythm in the cycle of the year. That led me to thinking about finding a similar rhythm in my writing schedule. Does it matter when a book comes out? It seems to me that my books that release in March/April or December/January seem to sell best. May/June is okay. The slowest month for me for new releases seems to be August. Anyone have thoughts on that? Should I beg, borrow and steal to get books to come out December, April...and a month not August to get into a pattern? And how often is good for releases? Every four months? Every six? At what point do readers say, "I forgot she was still writing"?

I may not have semesters to tick off the time for me anymore, but as long as I have the rhythm of write, edit, release, I think I'll be happy living off the clock.

While I Was Out

I'm on vacation (but still working on Jamie's book, Bad Attitude) so my wife offered to do a guest blog to free up my brain. Isn't she awesome? She has a message for all the writers' spouses.



Hi everyone!



My name is Kathy. As an early birthday present, I've given KA the week off so I'll be your guest blogger. I want to clear something up before we start, I am not a writer, but I am here to tell you a bit of what it's like to to be the spouse of one. When I tell people who my wife is or what she does for a living, I get the usual responses of "really," "wow," or "cool," but I I guess my favorite response is "I bet it's a lot of fun to live with an author."



Well, I have to say for the most part it is. Though you have to remember I don't just share my life with KA, but with her comes Joey and Aaron and Kim and Shane and--whoever she's writing about now. But for the most part it is a fun time, that is, until...the DEADLINE.



Now there are few words that can bring the strongest of souls to their knees, but for the spouse of an author, the word deadline is worse than staring down Satan in the bowels of hell. This one simple word has the power to turn a calm, creative, sensitive artist into the Hyde part of Dr. Jeckyll. Imagine the maiden voyage of the Titanic. Everyone starts out happy, excited and enjoying the journey, when from out of nowhere, the iceberg--the deadline rears its ugly head. Before you know it, the peaceful voyage has turned into a panicked, stressful struggle to make it to the end on time.



Since picking up and moving to the local YMCA is not an option, the cats and I have devised a code of survival. Each day, starting two weeks before the deadline, the cats will hang one of three colored signs in the window before I return from work. The yellow sign indicates stress is moderate, and I should proceed cautiously. Quiet tip-toeing, light household chores, a prepared dinner delivered to her office and quiet viewing of Spongebob are all acceptable. The orange sign indicates a high level of stress. This means under no circumstance should Spongebob be on, chores should stop, meals of non-perishable items are quietly left outside office door and I am to only quietly lie in bed reading.



The final color is red. At this stage you can smell the stress and panic a mile away. This is, thank god, a short-lived stage which occurs when the time to deadline can be counted in hours. During this Code Red, one should avoid contact with the writer at all costs. Sleep in the garage or backyard. Do not approach asking, "So how's it going?" This apparently simple question provokes the response one might expect when trying to take dinner away from a starving lion. Instead, do three consequetive spin classes at the local gym, have a root canal, or volunteer as a crash test dummy. Just stay clear of the Code Red.



When the deadline has been met, you may return home with flowers and an offer to take the writer out to dinner to celebrate the completion of another book. Above all, when your writer asks, "I hope I wasn't too cranky while I was trying to meet my deadline," one should smile and respond, "Not at all, dear. You were a pleasure as always."

For other insights into being the spouse of an author (and my thoughts about being her lackey, the TV show Survivor, and biking) you can follow me on Twitter @acrkal8.

Monkey Brain

That what I've heard several yoga instructors call it. Not just mine, but the general state of a mind that is leaping from branch to branch of ideas, just to check out a different view. The instructors also mentioned techniques for occupying that monkey brain for improving focus and meditation, but my brain was too busy monkeying around to remember what they said. See, as soon as you say monkey brain to me, I leap from a punchline in the movie Clue (Mrs. Peacock made one fatal error) to the serving of monkey brains in Temple of Doom, to images of them all scampering around in my head, to an infinite bunch of them hammering away at their version of Hamlet. By the time I've sorted through all that, meditation time is over.

All of this is a long way of saying my problems with the wife book and the mistress books is still ongoing, though I'm really getting emotionally attached to Dylan, so much so that I kind of want to slug Aaron for being mean to him. But even as I set the (is it the elephant brain that's focused?) mind on them, there go those monkeys frolicking with plot bunnies in one giant metaphoric orgy of distractions.

In spite of all that, I'm going to grab some focus here and let you know what's coming up. Starting November 15, check my website for a contest I'm running with the three other authors in the Carina Press M/M Holiday Anthology Men Under the Mistletoe, Josh Lanyon, Harper Fox and Ava March. We've got a big prize for our scavenger hunt and will be visiting each other's blogs to do guest posts. The anthology (and the stories separately) release the first week of December. My story "The Christmas Proposition" is very smutty is full of fun for the season. (And yeah, smutty. Exactly how wrong is it that I got the idea for the book while at my grandmother's funeral?)

Then on December 7, you can finally get your hands on Bad Boyfriend, which is about Eli, who was introduced in Bad Company. Eli was an awesome character to write and I think I hooked him up with the right hero. They really steamed my glasses, anyway.

Finally, if anyone missed this awesome post about saying to hell with the monkey brain and all those other excuses for not finishing a book, you have to go read it.

Don't forget the contest beginning November 15.

And We're Back

(This post brought to you by The Eastern Shore Tea Company, Red Bull, Diet Coke, and Five Hour Energy Drinks)

Those of you who’ve been with me for a while know that I’m a teacher and that I tend to mark my “new year” by the academic calendar. For some reason, this year I was moved by the changing seasons to start all those resolution-type things in late spring. I think it was the prospect of my second summer off (since writing is starting to pay enough to cover those two months). Whatever it was, I decided that I wasn’t going to start taking better care of myself. I started doing yoga again, started getting massages, started eating better. Then over the summer, I weaned myself off caffeine. Nothing drastic, I still had a soda or an iced tea, or even a hot green or decaf cup, but no more industrial strength brew, three-cup mugs in the morning just so I could open my eyes.

I’d been having trouble sleeping, and I thought it would help. It didn’t. I didn’t make the connection at the time, but my writing brain went off line as well. During August I told myself “You just need to refill the well.” Then I said, “You just need a story you’re excited about.” But despite plenty of ideas, there was nothing but cold dead silence from whatever takes those ideas into workable stories, and worse that same silence from the so noisy imaginary people who yammer in my ear until I get the words down. I hope I never have to live with an atrophied or amputated part, but I think I might know a bit of what that feels like.

Then I got a nice idea, something I’ve wanted to do for a while. I was going to tell the story of one of Aaron’s twin brothers from Collision Course. I had the other hero, finally, and an opening scene. Then nothing again.

Where the hell did all my words go?

I missed blog dates. I hated going on Twitter. I didn’t email my friends.

I had motivation. I had desire. I had an open file and hands on the keyboard. But nothing was hooked up in my brain. I tried everything I knew to work unsticking me before. I asked friends for help. I switched writing locations. I switched from keyboard to notebook to notecards. Nothing. And I was still having trouble falling or staying asleep.

I can’t ever remember a time when it was so quiet in my head. I was scared and miserable. I’ve been stuck, I’ve been so busy that life temporarily drowns out the story flow, but never experienced over a month of silence. Not ever in my life. Finally I said, "I’ve got to get something together for critique and I’m going to have a venti macchiato and I’m going to write."

Halfway through those four shots of espresso, like someone flipped a switch, it was back.

I’m not claiming the words came through me like fire or that it was suddenly easy, but the words were there again, praise the muses. After that, the ideas, the voices started rolling—and I picked up a few of my favorite little addiction enablers at the store.

Now the skeptical part of my brain is telling me that’s a nice rationalization to restart a bad habit, but the relief is too great to listen to it. Hey, if oiling those neural pathways with a few grams of a nice legal substance is what it takes, I’m all for it. I’m just glad it came back—and for a cheap-as-addictions-go cost.

Now excuse me. Dylan’s hero wants a word with me.

Getting to "The End"

One of the hardest parts of writing, for me, is finishing a book. It's not so bad with short stories, but novels and novellas? That's another story (so to speak). Starting a story, staring at a blank screen and wondering what to write, is not my problem. Getting through the middle to the climax of a book can be challenging, but is rarely insurmountable. Finishing a manuscript, writing that wrap-up that comes after you've had so much fun writing the climax, which is (let's be honest) the fun part, is the tough bit for me. Sure there are things that need to be tied up, sorted out, and whatnot, but *sigh* I was having so much fun before. The only thing that keeps me pressing forward in that moment where I just want to revert to my lazy nature and say in the words of Maxine the Scottish Tart "Och, I can't be bothered" is knowing that once it's done, I can walk away for a while and do my superiority dance. It looks something like this [dancing] I finished! I finished! I finished! [/dancing] That's what I was doing late last week when I completed the first draft of last year's NaNoWriMo novel. (Don't judge me. It's not November yet. ;-P ) I know I still need to do serious work on the last chapter before I even go back to the beginning to edit it into draft #2, but IT'S DONE, and this makes me happy.

How about you? Whether you write professionally, or you write fanfic on LiveJournal, or you write for yourself and don't share it with anyone else, what's the toughest part of the writing process for you?


Hey! I almost forgot! Thank you to those who've "Liked" my Facebook Page, Maia Strong, Author. If you haven't yet, please pop over, take a look, and if you like it, "Like" it!

Whether the weather be cold...

...Or whether the weather be hot,
We'll be together, whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not.

It's bizarre how much influence the weather can have on my creativity and productivity.  Just a few months ago (seriously, I'm talking May), I was desperate for some sunshine and its precious vitamin D to lift me out of my funk and spark a bit of creative energy in me. We finally got some and it did what I needed it to do. I finished a novel that had been stalled out for over two years and started another one that is currently in a holding pattern while I work to finish last year's NaNoWriMo novel before November. That's not too damned bad. And yet today, when I awoke to a low overcast and temperatures back down from the mid-80s to the mid-60s, my little brain went "Oo! Time to sit down and do some writing!" Clearly my creativity has as limited a short-term memory as the rest of my brain does to have forgotten so soon how it needed that sunshine to function.

So tell me, for those who write, does the weather have any effect on your writing habits? Does it inspire you to work more or less, or to work on a specific genre in a specific season? And for you readers, does the temperature, etc., affect your choice of reading material?

Busy-bee = Tired brain

We've actually had some proper summer lately. Saturday and Monday were sunny and gorgeous. I got to spend Saturday at the Scottish Highland Games, which is one of my favourite things to do. I know I've blogged about it before. Kilts and bagpipes just make me happy. Getting to hear the bands The Wicked Tinkers and Brother was fabulous, too. (There's music on both those sites, btw. So if you click, be forewarned. It's awesome music. You just might not want bagpipes and didgeridoos blaring from your speakers at work.) They both rocked the fairgrounds multiple times that day. I always feel a little empty when I come home from the Games, though, and not just in that empty wallet way. ;-P My bro summed it up well when he said it was strange to be home and no longer hear the ever-present drone of B-flat. There's nothing quite like 100+ pipers all playing "Scotland the Brave" at the same time.

My July has been completely nuts. I've been in rehearsals for a show (with some of the straightest men I've ever seen--very, very odd in the theatre world) and I was participating in a project to write a minimum of 100 words a day. I cranked out about 15K in just over two weeks. Not exactly NaNoWriMo pace, but it was a really good exercise (in a month that isn't November for a change) in just getting in there and doing it. Amazing what a little discipline can do. On the flip side, though... Brain power? I haz no more to give. Which is a shame because I'm in tech and my show opens Friday. *eep!* Wish me luck.

Oh! I nearly forgot! I blogged about my writing process (what there is of it, at least) last Tuesday over at Nine Naughty Novelists. Swing on over and check it out!

Dream Come True

I've seen a lot of blogs roll by recapping RWA National (the romance writing conference that was held in New York last week), and if I had something else to say, I guess I'd pretty much have a scoop (Can I use that word for a blog? Do people still use that word?) So yeah, I could talk about something else, but then I'd miss the chance to say how absolutely awesome it was meeting readers there.

You see, I've been writing for…a few decades, but only in the last few years have complete strangers been willing to read my work. And not only that, they pay to do it. Then they show up and talk to me about it, which has got to be one of the coolest things going. Because these readers, these actual people, they've met my imaginary friends, the characters that live in my head. And they even want to talk about them. They have opinions about them. Have you ever been dying to introduce one friend to another, just knowing they'll hit it off? And then when they do, you get this incredibly happy gloat going on. Not in a mean way but in a sunny, warm, peace-love-and-harmony kind of way. Or maybe you've finally convinced your friend to watch the TV show that you're in love with, and she falls for those characters, too and now you sit around and talk about them. Yeah, it's kind of like that. Only a hundred times better. Because something that was only real to you is suddenly real in a whole other way. And it's absolute magic.

So to everyone who's stopped by to talk to me about my books or emailed or tweeted, thank you so much. This is even more fun than making sure no one accidentally closed the door on my pet dragon's tail or making sure Touché Turtle had a place to sit at the dinner table.

Readers: you truly make my dreams come true.

Oh no she isn't!

Oh no! She is! She's writing about women! *gasp* What can I say? When characters finally start talking to me, I have to listen, and this time the characters are women. Don't worry, though. There are a couple of fellows in my head who have started to chat a bit, too. They're just a lot less forthcoming than the ladies, so I'm afraid they have to wait a little while. Frankly, I'm glad the two pairs aren't fighting for my attention. The gents are being just that, gentlemen, and waiting patiently on the back burner in my brain. It makes for a much saner me. Or should I say much less insane me? That's probably more accurate.

So here's a question for you. We're all here because we love to read m/m stories, right? Right. But do you dabble in other romantic pairings (or groupings), or are you strictly "Boys Only"?

All Aboard

I've had it.

I'm moving.

From now on, I'm living in Fictionworld. Specifically, Genre-Fiction World. Reality sucks. Even when it's not messy, when mean people aren't going blithely on without suffering any consequence for their hubris, it's boring. Who has to fill out all that paperwork—same stuff again, in detail—in fiction? (Unless it's a funny time loop thing). In Genre-Fiction World, however much it things suck for a while, the people I'm rooting for win. The meanies are snarkily handed what' s coming to them, and if it's well-written, the boring parts are all edited out. There's no sitting at traffic lights or waiting through commercials. It's story, all the time.

That's where I need to live. I realized that the two things I like best about my vocations are telling stories (as a writer, duh) and talking about stories as a teacher. It only makes sense to move into the storyworld full time. It'll be like living at Disney World, without so many kids. If Jasper FForde can send Tuesday Next into the Well of Lost Plots, why can't I go too?

In preparation for my move, I only asked for two things for my upcoming birthday: Sims Medieval (so I can create my own fiction kingdom) and a T-shirt with one of my favorite quotes about fiction on it. Ray Bradbury said, "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." C'mon. Read that again. And if you're not a writer stick the word fiction in there.

Apparently, the meanies are even out for what's in our heads, as if creating stories of people sharing their bodies and finding love was something bad to begin with, but those are the people who've got the problem separating fiction from reality. I'm sure you all saw this nonsense. As a fellow tenth-grade English teacher with twenty-five years of experience who also happens to write racy novels, I say to Judy May "Go, sister. To hell with those vicious dried-up shrews. I hope this epically unethical, so-not-news article lands you on every best seller list."

Is it any wonder it's more fun here in Fictionland? C'mon. Get packing! There's always room for more.

For those of you kind enough to leave some words about Peter on the last blog, I'm sorry I missed those comments. For some reason they didn't show up in my feed while I was on vacation. Peter is an irredeemable dick, but the sneaky arrogant bastard has his reasons and belief in what life should give him. He's never had to face the consequences, so why can't he keep getting away with it. He's been really interesting to write.

Struggling for Inspiration

I've been creatively uninspired for months now. Aside from one adapted short story, I've produced nothing of worth since last November. None of my usual tricks seem to be working to refresh the creative well, either. I blame the weather. No, seriously. So far this year, we have had a single day where the temperature topped 60F--and I wasn't even here to see it. Okay, I was coming home from a visit to one of my dearest friends who happens to live in NYC, and we did have a couple of reasonably sunny days while I was there, but it doesn't appear to have been enough. Funny thing is, I'm not a sunshiney person. I like the rain. I like the overcast skies. But, frankly, even I am fed up with them. I'd swear it's still winter here, except the crocuses are done blooming and the cherry trees are finishing up, too. Theoretically, that means it's spring.

::glances outside::

Yeah. Not so much.

Usually, a change of geography will jump start my creative brain. I figured I'd be all over my computer on the flight home, or at least once I got home. Again, not so much. So I must force myself back to the grind, which shouldn't be such a trial because I enjoy writing...when I'm actually writing.

If you have any tips or tricks that work for you, I'd love to hear them. I can't control the sun and my vacation has yielded nothing but happy memories and a few photographs. What do you find helps you out when you're stuck on the slow boat to meh?

Visual Stimulation

As a writer, I often turn to the visual arts for inspiration. I'm not sure what models Tyler Kenyon and Kyle Ledeboer are meant to convey here, but my brain thinks there are a few stories waiting to be told:



I wonder -- what's going on in this picture? Intense fitness training? A playful game of truth or dare? Could either scenario lead to something more? Add some bondage elements and you'll get a rough idea of how my Muse works. What do you think is going on in this picture?

Thank You Very Much

When I think about the past couple of years I want to burst into that song from the Albert Finney version of Scrooge, heavy on the "That's the nicest thing that anyone's ever done for me." I tend to be a bit sarcastic and snarky (You? Never I hear you say) but expressing gratitude is an important part of feeling good no matter what your spiritual-emotional path.

I announced my career intention as authoress (yes, I was keen on gender differentiation in words) at the age of six. It took me longer than I expected to reach that, but now I can say that I can support myself with my writing. I haven't quit my day job, because my wife would kill me and live on the insurance, but if I had to, I could be simply an authoress. It is mind-blowing and humbling because one of the things I couldn't grasp at the age of six is that to be an author who made a living one had to also have readers. Readers who were willing to pay real money (not Monopoly money) for the opportunity to be dragged into my imagination. To believe that people are willing to do that takes incredible chutzpah. To actually see it happen can leave a girl awestruck.

I am living my dream. And I couldn't be here without readers. And if I'm really slow on answering an email (or if you sent me one and it's floating in cyberspace) please know that I am profoundly and humbly grateful for your willingness to come with me as I tell you a story.

Quoting the songwriter again, "I would simply like to say, Thank you very, very, very much."

I'd love to express my gratitude in person if you happen to be near central New Jersey. I'm participating in the Book Fair at the Liberty States conference. It's from 5:30 to 7:30 at the Renaissance Woodbridge Hotel in Iselin, NJ. For more details, stop over here. Do not feel like you have to buy books there (though it's nice ;) especially if you've